mi dia con frida
my first time visiting frida kahlo's home
frida kahlo was the first female queer icon i ever knew. i shared this fact with my tour guide when he asked me why i loved frida so much. i grew up around a lot of gay men and drag queens, but queer women were never around. i found myself entering my queerness at a young age, and was very moved the first time i saw salma hayek portraying frida’s relationship with chavela vargas. it’s no surprise that salma is one of my biggest celebrity crushes, but that’s not what this post is about.
frida was released in 2002, at the time i was nine years old. aside from frida’s sexuality, what gravitated me towards her was how stubborn she was. she was a disabled queer artist, who was living in the early times of the 1900’s, who would play with her gender expressions by wearing suits, growing facial hair, and cutting her hair short. when i buzzed my head for the first time and let my armpit hair grow, i felt more comfortable in myself, but also somehow felt closer to frida.
on my arm i have tattooed “lo que no me mata, me alimenta” which translates to “what doesn’t kill me, nourishes me”. i’ve always enjoyed the slight deviation from the original quote, powerfully sang by kelly clarkson, because it had a focus on food. also, because i feel like there’s too much of an emphasis on strength. strength is often times confused with an oppression of one’s feelings or thoughts. i’ve always hated the idea that people go through tough times, and that resilience is what makes you “stronger”. when i see the word “nourishment”, it’s almost always referred to something good you’re doing for your body, mind, or spirit. there isn’t really “bad” nourishment, right? so i’ve really taken to the idea that whatever obstacle or bad moment happens to me, it’s nourishing me in some shape or form, either through gained experience or perspective, or just for the lore.
a three hour tour in frida’s neighborhood had me imagining her walking the very streets i was on. was she also eating huitlacoche quesadillas (sin queso)? did she also enjoy guava agua frescas on a hot mexican day?
touching the walls of “la casa azul” was a very powerful moment for me. more than twenty years of wanting to go to frida’s house and i was finally here. my tour mates stopped existing, and i listened to a lovely playlist made for me by a queer lover. i felt it was very fitting.
frida’s art supplies, childhood photos, her report cards, and a detention letter marked frida as a wild child. although bright, she was known to make a ruckus every now and then. up until her horrible accident, she had dreams of becoming a doctor. when those dreams were no longer possible, she shifted her passions to becoming an artist. walking through her home, she had several beds in different locations. one bed in particular had a mirror and little toys on the top of the ceiling. frida was a knick knack queen. she had all kinds of silly trinkets and interesting decor around her home which is very relatable to how i set up my own home.
frida and diego would inscribe books to each other. one video i saw of her, diego gave her some flowers and she started putting them in her hair. the way they looked at each other made me forget about how horrible of a relationship they had. one photo of diego had a red kiss mark, and several items in the home had both their names sketched on them. i love that kind of love, i could do without the toxic part. glad they opened their marriage so frida can explore her sexuality more. this is something i’ve done in my past relationships as well.
throughout the tour, our tour guide would tell us different stories about frida. i consider myself pretty knowledgeable on frida lore, but one story in particular really stuck with me that i had no idea about. frida spent most of her life bed ridden, but in one particular moment in her life, she was gearing up to have her first showing in mexico city. her doctor strongly advised her to not go to her showing and urged her to stay in bed. so what did she do? she called an ambulance to pick her up, bed and all, and had several men bring her into her showing. when there’s a will, there’s a way.
my mom loves to tell me that i’ve always done whatever i’ve wanted, both good and bad. when i become fixated on something i want to do, i will try everything to get it done. hearing that story with frida showing up in her literal bed made me feel even closer to her than before.
i found a stone bench to sit on in her garden. it was the only stone bench there and it was magically unoccupied. i had a perfect view of her garden and her home. i found myself again imagining her sitting here, maybe with a lover, maybe after a few glasses of wine, and just taking in the crisp night. the weather in mexico was so perfect.
frida has become extremely commodified to the point that its so cringe to see her face plastered over mugs and pillows. i overstayed my welcome in her home and missed the opening hours of her gift shop, maybe it was for the best. i sometimes wonder what she would think about all the horrible art that’s been made in her honor (or for capitalism’s sake)
coming to her museum is a dream that i’ve had for 16 years, almost half my lifetime. to have it come true and see her home with my own eyes, is a feeling i’ll cherish for the rest of my life.